


Catch Me When I Fall (If I Let You)

by Anonymous



Series: Against All Odds [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, M/M, Mental Health Issues, More of a relationship study, Songfic, Sort Of, ian is intentionally sort of ooc, im sorry, is that a thing?, kind of, lip is a good brother and fiona is a good sister, pre-diagnosis ian gallagher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "It scares Mickey more than it should. But, then again, pretty much everything relating to Ian scares him more than it should nowadays. Just not usually like this."
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Mandy Milkovich & Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & The Gallaghers
Series: Against All Odds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736494
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75
Collections: Anonymous





	Catch Me When I Fall (If I Let You)

**Author's Note:**

> First off, this is a part of my series "against all odds". technically, you don't really have to read it, but it's probably in your best interest because there are a few things happening here that may not make sense to you if you haven't read the first part. it's only about 4k, so if you haven't read it yet, it shouldn't take you too long :)
> 
> this takes place between the end of season three and the start of season four if you want a scope for when it's happening in the show, but that honestly doesn't really affect it. it especially doesn't affect it because i'm a moron and was basing the timelines of those two seasons on their release dates and not when they were actually happening. so basically, that's the general timeline if it matters to you, but it genuinely just doesn't matter. it's also a songfic of sorts to the song "homage" by mild high club.

**_Someone wrote this song before_ **

**_And I could tell you where it's from_ **

**_The 4736251 to put my mind at ease_ **

It starts two weeks after the letter from West Point comes.

Ian had been so excited when he first opened it, everyone crowded around him as he read it. He was completely silent the whole time, and everyone knew the answer right away.

But Fiona, the eternal optimist, wanting nothing but the best for her siblings, had asked anyway.

“Well, what’s it say?” and she came up behind him, read the first few lines from where she stood, and then wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and muttered condolences into his ear.

The rest of the Gallagher clan was there to console him in an instant, with the exception of Liam, who was left in his high chair, quietly munching on some grapes. And Mickey, who was well used to how affectionate the Gallaghers were with each other by that point, sat beside him and tried to squash the tiny part of him swelling with relief.

But after a moment, Ian had just stood, rather suddenly, from the pile of his family surrounding him, and smiled.

“It is what it is, right? Nothing I can do.”

And he just took his empty bowl, put it in the sink, and went upstairs.

And life just… went on. Ian opted to ignore what happened, and everyone let him.

And so one morning, Mickey wakes up just as the sun is starting to come up. In his opinion, that’s far too early, so he’s about to go back to sleep when he realizes there’s an empty space in the bed next to him. (He had tried to sleep on the floor after that first night under the guise of there being “kids in the room”, but after the fourth time he got stepped on, he decided to just suck it up. It was dark when he crawled into Ian’s bed in the middle of the night, but the younger boy had stirred and Mickey could almost hear how wide he was grinning when he realized what was going on).

He assumes Ian is in the bathroom, but the miraculously silent house allows him to hear the back door shut downstairs. He stands, quietly, and pulls on his jeans from where he discarded them hours earlier.

He tries to be quiet as he steps on to the back steps, but Ian hears him anyways, turning around. He barely acknowledges Mickey, simply looking at him and making a small gesture that’s almost a wave.

It strikes Mickey instantly that something isn’t right. There's a small voice in the back of his brain, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Terry Milkovich, that shames him for noticing, but he tells that voice to shut up.

“Fuck‘re you doing?” he asks, shifting his feet and regretting the decision to come outside barefoot. He tries to keep the concern out of his voice, but is unsuccessful.

“Dunno,” says Ian. Mickey waits a moment for him to finish his sentence, but he realizes that’s all Ian’s going to say. 

It scares Mickey more than it should. But, then again, pretty much everything relating to Ian scares him more than it should nowadays. Just not usually like this.

Contrary to popular belief, Mickey Milkovich isn’t an idiot, (though his grades, or lack thereof, might disagree). And sure, he doesn’t know the capital of Germany, or any other pointless shit like that, but he’s not stupid. He knows that things changed between him and Ian the night that his dad kicked him out (well, the night that he ran away from home so as to not be murdered by his father), and he’s learned there’s not much point in denying it. There’s still a knee-jerk reaction to hide it from the Gallaghers, but they honestly don't give a shit, and he’s learning not to either. They still live on the south side of Chicago, and Terry Milkovich is still making sure to constantly make it known that he intends to kill Mickey at the first given opportunity, but they’re alright for the time being.

So there's not too much internal struggle before he sits down next to Ian, and pulls Ian’s arm over his shoulder. It doesn’t hurt that it’s early, and that it’s quiet, and that it’s unlikely anyone would see them from where they are if it wasn’t.

“Okay,” he says quietly “are you alright?”

“Think so,” says Ian.

“Think so? What does that mean?” asks Mickey, hating how his voice shakes.

“Means I think so,” says Ian, as though that's any kind of answer.

“Alright,” says Mickey, knowing that he’s not getting a proper answer “are you gonna come back to bed?”

“‘m gonna go for a run,” says Ian “didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to bed, I’m assuming you don’t want to join me.”

“Okay,” says Mickey dumbly, feeling like there are words left unsaid that need to be spoken. But he’s tired, and Ian’ clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. So he stands, holding out his arm to pull in up with him, and quickly releases his hold on him when the taller boy reaches his feet.

Ian goes to kiss him, and Mickey retracts on instinct. But Ian doesn’t move, face lingering in the space where Mickey’s once was, eyebrows raised as if he’s daring him. And Mickey's not a pussy, so he meets Ian's mouth with his, grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him ferociously.

They break apart after a moment, and Ian goes down the steps and jogs off, but not before giving Mickey a smile and a wave. And the breathless feeling that it leaves Mickey with is enough to push the worry to the bottom of his chest. Not forgotten, just bookmarked for later.

He goes upstairs, and lays back down to get a final half-hour of sleep. And if he presses his face into the place where Ian’s head usually rests and inhales, well, that’s nobody's business but his.

**_Please just have a laugh with me_ **

**_'Cause you know I'm borrowing by now_ **

**_These sounds, have already crowned_ **

After that, Ian’s up before Mickey almost every morning to go on a run. He kisses Mickey's head before he leaves because he thinks he’s still asleep. He’s not, and he never goes back to sleep afterwards, just lays there quietly until Ian gets back and goes downstairs to make coffee while he’s in the shower.

Ian picks up another job working the desk at some community center further north, and it pays far better, so he works very few shifts at the Kash n’ Grab these days, and it makes Mickey wonder why he doesn’t quit. When Mickey asks him about it, he shrugs.

“I’m already working at the center pretty much as often as they’ll let me, so I’m just filling in the empty hours. We haven’t got that many more mouths to feed than you did at your dad’s, but we’re more concerned about feeding them, so all my money goes to Fiona. I’ll probably quit soon, though, I’ve barely got any time anymore, and I’ll still have a job, so Fiona should be fine with it. That is if I don’t get fired first”

“Where, at the centre?”

“No, the Kash n’ Grab.”

“Oh.”

Part of Mickey wants to point out that he's never once seen Ian work nearly this much, but Ian’s reasoning makes sense, so he doesn’t. 

Instead, he waits until everyone has left the kitchen after dinner and Fiona is washing the dishes.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

He’s not sure why he’s nervous. He’s taken a liking to her in the time he’s been staying there, and she doesn’t seem to hate him either. She’s let him stay with them rent-free for longer than one night, just having him pitch in for groceries and watch Liam from time to time, which is more than most of his actual friends and family would allow. So that definitely says something.

She turns around, clearly surprised by his presence.

“Hey, Mickey. What’s up?” she says, drawing her attention away from the plate she’s scrubbing momentarily.

“I was talking to Gall-” he stops, remembering that he can’t exactly refer to someone by their last name in a house with five others that share it “Ian. I was talking to Ian today about him picking up another job, to pitch in, and I know that having another whole person around must be a bit of a struggle. It’s gonna be hard for me to find something else with my record, he’s the only reason I have this one, but I was thinkin’ I could-”

“Hold on,” she says, putting the plate down entirely “Ian got another job? When?”

Mickey frowns. The Gallagher siblings seem to know everything about each other, so it strikes Mickey as odd that she doesn’t know about something as mundane as a job. But she’s got a lot to keep tabs on, so he doesn’t linger on it.

“Yeah, he works the desk at some community center. It’s not totally north side, but close to it, so I don’t know, like, where exactly. He’s been there a few weeks.”

“Huh,” she says, apparently lost in thought.

“Yeah. So, anyways, what I was saying was-”

“Fiona, come quick!”

Debbie’s voice comes down the stairs, reverberating through the house.

“Sorry,” she says, pulling her gloves off “I gotta deal with that.”

“S’fine,” he says awkwardly, not even sure she’s heard him as she hurries up the stairs.

He goes on to the back step, where he had seen Ian quietly slip out shortly before.

“You didn’t tell your sister about the job.”

He’s not really sure why he brings it up, but he does. Ian, who is sitting on the top step, turns to him. Mickey is reminded of their conversation nearly a month earlier, and the unease that made its home in his chest that morning grows a little bit. It’s been there this whole time, a dull thud, a steady beat punctuating every moment, but something about Ian’s blank expression makes it thump a little louder.

“No, I didn’t.”

Mickey feels his brow furrow as he takes a step closer.

“Why not?”

Ian shrugs. Mickey sits down next to him and puts a hand on his face, gentle, still so afraid to touch, even after everything. Ian’s face doesn’t change it’s blank expression, like he hasn’t even registered Mickey's hand.

“What’s going on?”

The blankness is carefully pushed out by a grin. But it’s not Ian's grin, and Mickey should know. He’s spent countless hours pretending to be infuriated by that grin, scowling at it and telling Ian to fuck off, only for it to come wandering back to him when he’s alone. He wishes he could take back all of that, now. There’s nothing he’s ever wanted to see more.

“Nothing’s going on, mick. I just didn’t bring it up. She’s got a lot going on.”

Mickey mentions it again a couple of days later with Lip, who’s nursing a beer on the front step.

“You busy?”

Lip gives him a once-over, before frowning.

“This about Mandy? Because Fiona’s gonna flip if you kick the shit outta me, which won’t be great for you, considering we’re the only paper-thin wall between you and death right now.”

“What? No. it’s about Ian,” he pauses “But believe me, that’s the only thing stopping me from putting you in the hospital.”

Lip’s frown deepens.

“Ian? Is he okay?”

“I’m not sure.”

Mickey explains everything to Lip, who does not have the reaction that he’s expecting. To be fair, he’s not really sure what that is, but a blank look and the phrase “That it?” isn’t it.

“Yeah?”

“So a total fitness junkie that’s done pull-ups on every door frame he’s ever seen is working out, and the most closed-off member of this family neglected to mention a mundane fact about his schedule.”

“Well, I mean, there’s more to it. He just seems… off? I don’t know how to explain it.”

Lip just shrugs, and takes a sip of his beer.

“I’m sure he’s fine, man. I’ve known him for a long time, he’s probably got something going on in his head that nobody is gonna be able to deal with but him. Believe me, I've had plenty of sleepless nights over shit like this. You just gotta let him work it out on his own. Nothing you can do except be there when he’s done, and listen when he talks. But he probably won’t.”

Mickey thinks this over, unhappy with the answer, but knowing that Lip probably knows what he’s talking about more than anyone else.

“Sweet of you to worry about him, though. Sweet enough that I’m using this as blackmail if you’re ever in a position where it’s safe for you to teach me a lesson about your sister again.”

Mickey makes a face, pushing Lip’s shoulder.

“Man, fuck you,” he says, but it’s lighthearted. He still has no interest in being friends with Lip, but he’ll admit he doesn't hate him as much as he used to.

He thinks about Lip’s advice the next morning when Ian gets up. And after feeling Ian press his lips to his head, he rolls over and goes back to sleep.

**_Come on, it's a silly dream_ **

**_Dreaming of the imagery unfound_ **

**_The view sits nice from that cloud_ **

The nightmares start all at once.

It’s late. Mickey’s fast asleep when he feels Ian moving beside him. He assumes he’s just adjusting himself, as it’s not hard to feel uncomfortable when two people are sleeping in a bed barely big enough for one. But after a moment, he realizes it’s more than that.

He sits up, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, and sees him thrashing out, seemingly still asleep. Mickey shakes him, and Ian wakes with a shout, gripping Mickey's arm so tight he wonders if it’ll bruise.

Mickey has been in Ian’s position enough times to know what he’s going through, and after Ian catches his breath and releases Mickey's arm, Mickey gently puts a hand on the back of Ian's neck, where he feels it drenched in sweat.

“Hey. You’re okay.” he whispers into the dark “it was a dream. You’re alright. I’m here.”

He feels Ian’s head lower on to his shoulder, and he waits for Liam or Carl to stir and ask what’s going on, having been woken up by the noise. But there’s no sound from either of their beds, so he shifts them to lay down. They sleep curled up in each other, something, Mickey rarely allows, using the excuse that no one believes of there being kids in the room. But he can’t find the energy to protest when Ian’s legs intertwine with his.

That night isn’t the first of its kind. Almost every one that follows it involves the same routine of Ian thrashing until he stirs Mickey and Mickey has to wake him up, or waking up himself and somehow awaking Mickey as well.

Some nights like that are like the first one, and Ian is able to go back to sleep afterwards. But most nights, he kisses Mickey and goes downstairs. Sometimes he goes for a run, doesn’t come back until after sunrise, sweaty and exhausted (though he never goes back to sleep), and some nights Mickey goes downstairs with him, and one of them puts on a pot of coffee and they sit at the table or outside, talking about nothing.

Regardless of what happens, Mickey never goes back to sleep.

**_And if you want a piece of my thoughts_ **

**_There's a coin worth flipping_ **

**_Why don't you toss?_ **

It’s Fiona that finally brings it up.

He’s on the couch with Ian and Carl, and the three of them are taking turns on the Xbox, and Mickey's turn has just ended. He steps out front for a smoke, and the two eldest Gallagher siblings are sitting on the top step, deep in conversation.

He clears his throat, and they stop talking, but it doesn’t seem like they were talking about him, so he just sits on the step below them on the other side of the porch and lights his cigarette.

“Mickey?” says Fiona after a moment.

“Yeah?” he turns around, and they’re both just watching him. Gallaghers have a habit of doing that, just staring at people when they have something to say. It really pisses him off, he wishes they’d just spit it out.

After another moment of silence, Mickey shakes his head at them, hand not holding the cigarette waving out.

“What? What’s up?”

Something in Mickey's head clicks about the way that they’re looking at him. He’s seen it before, on scared teenagers when he used to spend more time around the high school before he almost got the cops called on him.

“Alright, what do you need? Weapons? Drugs? Some kinda service?” Fiona gives him a look like he’s just pulled out a gun and shot somebody in their yard instead of talking about it “I don’t really got much to offer, since I'm kind of on the outs with my suppliers, but most of my brothers and cousins probably won’t give a shit if I pay them enough. So I can probably help you out, but it’s gonna cost you a fuckin’-”

“No, Mickey, that’s not it,” says Lip, rolling his eyes as Fiona continues to give him an alarmed glare.

“Okay, so what the fuck is it?”

“It’s about Ian,” says Lip quietly, tone serious.

Mickey runs a finger over his eyebrow, looking out into the street.

“You finally started to realize what I was talking about? Or are you gonna give me another fuckin’ lecture about how I’m overreacting”

“I’m worried too, Mickey. I didn’t think anyone else had noticed” says Fiona “especially not you, but I asked Lip and-”

“Especially not me?” says Mickey “fuck does that mean?”

Lip laughs. 

“C’mon, Mickey, it’s nothing personal. You of all people must know that you have a bit of a reputation” and he’s still laughing, because this is a joke. The concept of Mickey Milkovich worrying about another human being, worrying about Ian, is a joke.

“Let’s talk about that fuckin’ reputation then, huh?” he turns back to them, Fiona's face blank and Lip still grinning “first, I got shot in the leg and went to juvie. Then, couple months after I got home, I broke parole and went _back_ to juvie. Directly after getting out of juvie that time, I got shot _again_ , this time in the fuckin’ ass. Still got the goddamn scar if you wanna see. So then, another few months go by, not in juvie yet, except, oh, wait! My father beats the shit out of me in my own living room and then kicks me out of the fucking house. And now I gotta check behind every corner when I walk down the street in my own fucking neighbourhood because he threatens to murder me any chance he gets.”

They’re both silent.

“What’s the common variable in that? Either of you know?” 

Silence.

“Ian. it’s Ian. and yet here I am, still, time after fucking time, years later, still fucking in love with him.”

There's no response, Mickey stewing in his own anger, and Lip and Fiona too stunned to respond. And it occurs to all three of them what he’s said at the same time.

“In love?” says Fiona.

And it scares Mickey. It scares him a fucking lot. Because, yeah, in love. He just said those words out loud for the first goddamn time and they weren’t even to Ian. And the thing that scares him the most? They’re true. And he’s not even mad that they’re true. More relieved to have it off his chest than anything.

“What I said, ain’t it?” he mutters, scratching absently at the wood of the steps, “tell anyone and you’re both fucking dead”

“Got it,” says Lip, finally speaking.

“So, about Ian,” Fiona says awkwardly, trying to shift the conversation “we wanted to talk about what you said to Lip.”

“You know what’s wrong with him?”

“Me?” says Fiona “No clue. But it’s something, and I wanna figure it out.”

“So, what, you gonna drug him and make him talk or some shit?”

He regrets the joke a moment later when they both exclaim in varied levels of irritation with Mickey, and Lip hits his arm, which he lets him get away with this once.

“No, I want the three of us to sit him down and figure it out together, let him know we’re here for him.”

Lip and Fiona share a glance, one that lets Mickey know there’s a piece of the puzzle that he’s missing.

“What?” he says, more annoyed with these fucking Gallaghers and the way they act like girls in the fifth grade that learned a new piece of gossip. “What is it? I gotta make another speech so you’ll tell me your big fuckin’ secret?”

“Ian ever, uh, tell you about our mom?” Lip asks

Mickey frowns. “The dyke chick, right? Batshit crazy, adopted the trademark southside parenting strategy of fucking right off?”

“Yeah, well, in the medical world, “batshit crazy” translates to mentally ill. And a lot of it is passed through genetics.” says Lip, calmly. Beside him, Fiona bites her lip, looking around at the darkened block.

“What, so, like, he got this crazy gene from your mom?”

“Not necessarily.” says Fiona “he could just be going through some shit, it could be nothing. But this is the kind of thing you need to nip in the bud, and the only good thing Gallagher genes are good for is being awful. We need to be sure.”

“So you’re gonna take him to a fucking shrink?”

“Again,” says Lip, like he’s talking to an impatient toddler “the keyword here is maybe. We can’t be sure yet, we’re just letting you know that it’s a possibility.”

“So, say that is what’s going on. What happens? They put him in a padded room? Or he like, lies on a fucking couch while some prick with a notepad talks to him about his feelings?”

Lip gives him a look that borders on amused. “Somewhere in the middle? It depends on what’s going on, and how bad it is. But he could end up in a hospital, yeah. Not quite as dramatic as you’re probably imagining, TV isn’t a great reference for this shit. But, like we keep saying, this is all a worst-case scenario.”

They’re all quiet for a moment, before.

“And that would help him, going to a hospital?”

Lip and Fiona exchange a look.

“In the long run, yeah, probably.”

Mickey flicks the end of his cigarette in the direction of the yard.

“Then we gotta talk to him.”

**_Please just have a laugh with me_ **

**_'Cause you know I'm borrowing by now_ **

**_These sounds, have already crowned_ **

**_Come on, it's a silly dream_ **

**_Dreaming of the imagery unfound_ **

**_The view sits nice from that cloud_ **

A few days later, they sit Ian down in the living room after the kids have gone to bed.

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking around at them. The three of them share a glance.

He sits on the corner of the couch, Mickey in the armchair, Fiona beside him, and Lip beside her.

“We just want to talk to you for a minute,” says Fiona.

“Okay, you’re all being fucking weird. What’s wrong?”

And they take turns, talking quietly to him. Telling him that they’re worried, that they love him. Asking him to be let in. He refuses.

“What is this, a fucking intervention? You guys think I'm on coke or some shit? You think I'm turning into Frank? You think I'm turning into _Monica_?”

“Nobody thinks that, Ian,” says Lip “we just wanna make sure you’re okay. If you say you are, then fine. But it doesn’t seem like you are.”

“And,” says Fiona quietly, voice choked, looking at Ian, hand taking his “if you think that this might be something that needs a doctor, you need to tell us. You need to tell us now.”

At this, Ian's face twists nastily and he wrenches his hand away. He goes to stand, but she stops him. She speaks again, firmly, fear gone.

“Nobody is calling you Monica, or Frank, or anyone else. But if something is wrong, we need to catch it now. Before those become fair comparisons.” 

She’s crying now, tears quietly sliding down her cheeks. She wipes her face, before resting both hands on Ian's forearm. He’s relaxed now, just a bit, as he looks at her. Something about this feels too intimate, like a family matter that Mickey shouldn’t be there for. But he would probably make things worse by leaving. So he stays, and he watches, and he hopes.

“Ian, this is not personal. You are not a bad person for letting us help you. Me, Lip, Debs and Carl, and Mickey. We’re your family.” Lip's eyes are on Mickey now, and they’re making him feel exposed “we love you.”

“Okay.”

It’s quiet, and if the wind had blown too loudly at that moment they would have missed it. But they don’t.

“If you think I should see a doctor, if that would make you feel better, then I’ll do it.”

Fiona and Lip smile, and Mickey feels himself doing the same. Fiona nods and pushes her hand through Ian’s hair.

“I’m proud of you.”

She takes his head in her hands and kisses his forehead like he’s ten. But Ian doesn’t seem to mind. He just gives her a small smile and nods as he stands.

“I’m gonna go get some air, just gonna think for a minute.”

Fiona nods. “Okay.”

Ian stands, and goes out the front door. Fiona, Lip, and Mickey go into the kitchen. Lip pulls out three beers, and wordlessly passes both of them one, opening the third and taking a long drink. They all drink in silence, cleaning up the last bit of mess leftover from dinner for a few minutes before Mickey speaks.

“That went well, yeah?” Fiona doesn’t respond, but Lip turns to him, worrying his lip with his teeth.

“Relatively,” says Lip.

“So, what now? We take him to a shrink and they, like, put him on some fuckin pills and then he’s fine?”

Lip shakes his head “Not necessarily. Even if they do diagnose him immediately, which can’t be guaranteed, this isn’t the same as antibiotics for a cold. It can be a long process, getting him the right meds, and after that, it can take a while for them to balance.”

Mickey frowns, unease settling in his bones. But Lip and Fiona look just as tired as he does, so he decides to bring it up another time.

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” he says, grabbing Ian a beer from the fridge.

He doesn’t wait for a response, just moves quietly through the house and opens the door.

He opens it to find the front yard empty.

“Ian?” he calls out, going down the steps as the front door swings shut behind him.

But he can tell, deep in his stomach, that he can’t hear him.

**_And if you want a piece of my thoughts_ **

Mickey goes back inside, numb.

He walks into the kitchen, legs like jelly. It feels like there are tiny pins steadily stabbing into every part of his body. Like there are millions of rubber bands around his lungs, constricting everything.

When he reaches the kitchen, Lip is talking quietly to Fiona, who’s washing a pot in the sink. His eyes fall on to Mickey, and fear flashes over his face. He stops mid-sentence, putting the nearly empty beer bottle he’s holding on the counter.

“What is it?”

“He’s gone.”

There’s a loud crash as Fiona drops the pot into the sink and turns around.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” she asks, panicked.

“I mean he’s fucking gone! I went out there and he wasn’t there. We probably freaked him out with the fuckin’ nuthouse talk, and he took off.” he’s trying not to yell, but having a hard time managing. They shouldn’t have brought it up, should have let him come to them on their own, should’ve been more careful in the way they’d phrased it-

Fiona shakes her head, pulling off her gloves and pushing a hand through her hair.

“Okay, I’m calling Kev and Vee, seeing if they can come stay with the kids.”

“If they can’t?” Lip asks.

“We leave a note and they stay here alone, god knows they can handle it.”

Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve. Fat load of fucking good it does now.

“Alright,” says Fiona. Her hands are shaking, but her voice stays firm. Mickey recognizes this Fiona, it’s the one he met the night he came crashing through the kitchen window. This is the Fiona he trusts to find Ian “Lip, you go to the L, look everywhere, just don’t get on a train. Talk to people, ask if they’ve seen him, or if they’ve seen anyone behaving erratically. Mickey, I want you to go down closer to where you live, look around, you know the area better. Call your sister, and anyone else he might have gone to. I’m gonna stay closer to here and do the same.”

Lip and Mickey nod, pulling on their coats as Fiona calls Veronica. A few minutes later, the three of them are stepping out the door as Kevin and Veronica come down the street wearing robes and slippers. At the sight of them, Veronica speeds up, before pulling the three of them into an awkward sort of group hug.

“You’re gonna find him, okay? It’ll be alright.”

Fiona nods, with a sad smile “Thanks, Vee. The kids are asleep, so they don’t know what happened, but you can tell them if they wake up and ask. Just make sure they stay here.”

Veronica nods, and Kevin, who has come up behind her, gives them a sympathetic smile. They go into the house, and the three of them set off.

Ian doesn’t come home that night.

They all get back to the Gallagher house around seven. Carl is sleeping on the couch, Veronica sitting in the armchair nearby, drinking a cup of coffee and staring intently at the floor. Debbie, meanwhile, sits at the kitchen table, quietly eating a slice of toast as Kevin stands at the stove, scrambling eggs.

The slam of the door as the three of them enter brings Veronica to her feet, and causes Debbie and Kevin to emerge from the kitchen moments later. But it’s immediately clear that Ian isn’t with them, and a sense of unease washes over the room as everyone stands silently for a moment.

“You guys got any idea where he is?” asks Debbie, tone betraying the hope she seems to be trying to fool herself, fool everyone in to.

Lip shakes his head “Sorry, Debs. Nothing.”

As much as he talks shit about the Gallaghers and how sentimental they are, Mickey's always admired that they don’t bullshit, don’t sugarcoat things just because they’re talking to a kid. Right now, though, it stings to hear Lip say so bluntly how they’ve failed.

“Who wants eggs?” asks Kevin, quietly. Mickey, Fiona, and Lip all nod and move to follow him and Debbie into the kitchen. Veronica catches Fiona’s arm, and pulls her into a hug, silently rubbing her back as Fiona presses her head into her shoulder.

Mickey watches for a moment, before turning away and going into the kitchen.

Things don’t really improve from there. Mickey stays on their couch because he still can’t go home, but can’t even think about sleeping in the bed he and Ian shared alone.

They call constantly, but they’re met with

_You have reached the voice mailbox of-_

Mickey always hangs up before Ian interrupts the robotic voice to say his name.

They report him missing to the police. But on paper, he’s another troubled southside kid from a broken home that’s really only technically a minor and has run away to “make something of himself” but is never really gonna do anything even remotely remarkable.

On paper, he isn’t worth looking for.

**_There's a coin worth flipping_ **

A little over a week after Ian leaves, there’s a knock on the front door, early in the morning.

It’s a Saturday, and the house is asleep, so the sound wakes Mickey. He stands from the couch quickly, brain on high alert. Everything does that to him, now. Every time a phone rings, or somebody in the street looks at him too long, or he sees a stranger with a posture even vaguely resembling that of the man he loves. Even when he knows, knows so well it consumes him, that it isn’t Ian, he hopes.

He wishes he didn’t.

The person he doesn’t expect to see is his sister, looking breathless and underdressed for the cool morning air.

“What are you-”

“Dad broke parole.”

“What?”

Mandy almost looks like she’s trying not to smile. Mickey wonders why she’s stopping herself.

“When?”

“Literally just now. Cops just took him.”

“Did you… did you just come here the second it happened?”

“Figured you needed some good news. You give a shit what he did?”

“Not one.”

Mandy smiles, and pulls him into a hug. 

She does that now, ever since that night with Terry. Mickey always gives her shit about it when she tries around other people, but he honestly doesn’t mind when they’re alone.

“What’s going on?”

Lip has come down the stairs, closely followed by Fiona.

“Our loving father is back in the can,” says Mickey, quickly shoving Mandy off him.

“No shit?” says Lip

“None,” confirms Mandy.

“I gotta get my stuff, and I'll come home.” says Mickey, “you sticking around?”

Mandy hesitates, the air between her and the eldest Gallagher brother thick with tension after the breakup. But to everyone’s surprise, Lip nods and gestures to the kitchen.

“Yeah, c’mon. You want some breakfast?.”

Fiona pulls her cardigan tighter around her as she and Mickey watch them go.

“You want a bag or somethin’ for your stuff?” she asks him.

“I got, like, four things that I can't bring out of here on my person. I’ll probably just stick it all in my coat.”

Fiona nods, and turns to go back upstairs “I’m gonna try and get another hour of sleep in. I’ll keep you updated about Ian and everything” silence, before “please do the same.”

Mickey nods. She’s almost fully upstairs before he speaks.

“Fiona?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

And it’s so simple, just one word, but there’s so much behind it. He hopes she gets it all

“Of course.” 

She does.

“Take care of yourselves. We’re still... ” she pauses, thinking “just because Ian isn’t here and Lip and Mandy aren’t really a couple doesn’t mean that we’re not here if you guys need us.”

Mickey goes home, and the worrying starts to lessen. He still calls, but he finds himself doing it less and less. And he stops jumping when someone knocks on the door, stops losing his shit when there’s somebody with red hair on the street.

Things are nicer at home, without Terry. Everyone else is still around, and they’ve all heard about Mickey, but don’t really give a shit. He lets himself wonder, sometimes, what it would have been like if things had been different, if Ian hadn’t narrowly missed Terry's arrest, and had come back to live at the Milkoviches.

It’s a dangerous thing, wondering. But it’s hard to avoid.

He’s been gone nearly two months on the night Mickey gets irresponsibly high with Mandy in the living room.

“I’m so angry at him,” Mickey says, out of the blue.

“At who?” she asks with a frown.

“Gallagher. Like, I shouldn't be. I’m not allowed to be. Because he’s going through shit, right? The other two-”

“There are like twelve others.”

“Fuck you, you know what I’m saying. Fiona and the douchebag. They say he’s nuts, right? So like, he’s nuts, and I can’t be pissed at him for doing dumb shit when he’s nuts. Just like, if somebody pisses on your chair when they’re high you don’t get as mad at them as you would if they pissed on your chair sober. But my fucking chair still has piss on it, you know?”

She’s quiet for a moment, before 

“Did Iggy piss on a chair again?”

And something about it makes Mickey do something he’s never done in the presence of anyone, let alone his sister.

He starts to cry.

And he lays his head in her lap, and she brushes her fingers through his hair, and she mumbles and Mickey’s pretty sure it’s nonsense, that she has no idea why he’s so upset, but it’s still comforting.

Two weeks later, he’s lying in bed, and just before he’s about to fall asleep, he thinks about Ian.

He realizes it’s been three days since his last call.

This is the longest he’s gone without trying since the first night that Ian disappeared.

He takes a shaky breath, rolls over, and goes to sleep.

**_Why don't you toss?_ **


End file.
